


hindsight's a bitch, don't you think?

by KadeAK (zacixn)



Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [5]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fear, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Paranoia, Tommy is trying so hard, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur's Steady Decline, hindsight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacixn/pseuds/KadeAK
Summary: There were five key scenes in Wilbur's slow, steady crumble.Tommy had five key opportunities to turn things around before they turned to shit.Hindsight really is a bitch, sometimes.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909273
Comments: 6
Kudos: 210





	hindsight's a bitch, don't you think?

**Author's Note:**

> The first scene is actually an alternate perspective to a scene from a different oneshot, 'fighting is easy, young man. coping is harder', which can be read earlier in this series. Check it out afterwards if you want to read it from Wilbur's perspective.

I. 

The first warning sign occurred before the Election had even been proposed.

The early morning was bitter and cold, and the sun had yet to rise. Tommy was never the type of man to sleep in, and ever since obtaining his new position as the Vice President of a whole independent nation, he didn’t exactly have the option to sleep in anymore. He was surprisingly okay with the development, though – working beside Wilbur and Tubbo made the sacrifice worth it, and Tommy quickly learned that the world could be beautiful in the mornings.

That was besides the point, though. Tommy was fairly certain that he was always the only person who woke at such ridiculous hours. The rest of L’Manberg worked on less strict scheduling, rising after dawn, and the President slept elsewhere in his own quarters, usually choosing to stay up late to complete work rather than wake up early.

As a result, a humanoid silhouette up on the walls of the nation was not something he expected to come across in the earliest hours of the day. At first, Tommy assumed they were being spied upon by Eret or Dream. He clutched his trusty backup knife as he climbed up the trusty blackstone stairs, weapon trembling in his grip. He might be awesome, but Tommy was not quite yet mentally prepared to stab a bitch this early in the morning.

The solider froze in his steps when he recognised the figure, though. There, leant against the wall and staring out over the forest with a tired gaze, stood the President of L’Manberg, Wilbur Soot. He seemed to be scanning the landscape for threats – mobs and enemies alike - though his gaze had long since turned inattentive and unfocused.

Tommy’s grip on his weapon slackened as he sheathed it again, approaching his leader with tentative footsteps. He looked exhausted, to be honest – absolutely shattered, as if he hadn’t slept for a week. Wilbur didn’t stir even when Tommy stood by his side, silent and solemn in the night’s cloak.

Tommy would never forget how absolutely shattered he’d looked as he slumped against the wall, responding to Tommy’s worried questioning with dull laughter and a vacant expression. He’d stayed up too late, probably working himself to exhaustion – the vice president couldn’t quite understand why Wilbur had driven himself to such levels of tiredness. He was passionate to L’Manberg to a fault, really, working and working and working with far too little regard for his own personal health.

The boy helped him to his feet, noting with worry how Wilbur seemed limp and heavy with fatigue in his grasp. The taller man leant onto him on the entire trip to the sleeping quarters, and Tommy did not miss how he seemed to grasp a little too tightly onto Tommy’s shoulders, as if he were looking to ground himself in something physical. He felt guilty leaving him alone in the bedroom to start his routine – it was his role as second-in-command to support his President, after all - but Tommy forced himself to back away and give him some space. 

When he was back up the next day as if nothing had happened, Tommy made Wilbur promise to rest with the citizens in the sleeping quarters – and he did. The dark circles under his eyes eased a little, and Tommy felt secure in the fact that his leader would recover.

Wilbur would be okay with more sleep, he thought. Setting up a nation was difficult – Wilbur staying up too late a few times wasn’t anything to be extensively worried about. Maybe if they’d held a conversation about it, though, Tommy would have realised that it wasn’t work keeping Wilbur from sleeping. Unfortunately for him, though, nobody was ever awake to hear him wake in the night in a cold sweat, hands trembling from night terrors that had yet to subside. Nobody was ever awake to hear him mumble Eret’s name in his sleep, his voice tinted with residual betrayal. 

-

II.

Perhaps the election itself was another alarm for bad things to happen. Wilbur didn’t need to call for one, not really – he’d earned his right to lifelong presidency after risking his life for the sake of his men. Tommy couldn’t understand why he wanted to call for it, even as they discussed the reasonings over and over. When he thought back on it, the reasons became frighteningly clear – even back before their exile, Wilbur had been scared of losing control. Maybe Tommy had shared that fear, too. He wasn’t quite sure anymore.

“But - We earned our leadership fair and square,” Tommy had said as he looked over Wilbur’s documents, the neat handwriting listing out the rough baseline for the election’s guidelines. It looked like a fair election, save for the fact that only one party had been listed as running – their own party, recently named POG2020. 

Wilbur gently took the documents back. “We need to consolidate our leadership. If we don’t remind everyone that we are the ones in head of the cabinet, who knows how many more civil wars will break out? Tommy, we established this nation for peace, not for petty violence.”

Rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, Tommy made a hesitant humming noise. “But I don’t get how it will help. How will making the people vote for us convince them to listen to us again? It just sounds like a big waste of time and money.”

“If they vote for us, Tommy,” Wilbur explained, “they’ll feel like they elected us in. We placed ourselves in this position when the war ended, and it’s obvious that the people don’t wholly respect us as a result.” He paused, running his thumb along the barely-dry ink’s stains. “We’re the only party running, so there’s no risk involved. This is a vital step for our administration.”

The vice president mulled the choices over. As weird of a decision it was, he couldn’t identify any big issues with it. And if it would bring them greater control over their nation, and stop unnecessary wars, then surely Wilbur knew what he was doing.

“Okay,” he said with an ambitious grin blooming on his face. “Then let’s do it. POG2020 for the win!”

Wilbur quirked a smile at Tommy's visible support, finalising the document with a signature. Little did Tommy know that they'd just signed away their own presidency, right there and then. 

-

III.

Together and alone, Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit barely managed to evade death.

The whole nation had turned on them in an instant, and now, they were alone. Well and truly alone. Tommy couldn’t help but cry as he struck the wall of their new cave home, memories bitter and fresh in his mind. Tubbo had turned on them. Fundy had turned on them. Everyone had turned on them.

They’d given everything for L’Manberg, and now, it was going to be destroyed. And for what? For capitalism? For expansion? The idea of it sent waves of rage rushing through Tommy’s mind.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he snarled, voice rough due to the amount of screaming he’d done mere minutes ago. “I can’t—fuck.”

From the corner, Wilbur seemed to stir from where he’d been sitting on a stone ledge, his face shrouded in the shadows of the cave. Tommy turned to look at the ex-President reluctantly. He looked, oddly enough, quite calm, despite the ominous shadow painting his face and illuminating his eyes. He wasn’t crying, or shaking, or yelling, or anything – just sitting, and reflecting, a dull and serious look to his eyes.

Maybe he was in shock. Tommy felt like he was in shock, too, his limbs numb from the surge of adrenaline he’d just endured. With wobbly steps, he moved to sit next to his mentor, shuffling closer when he felt the warmth of his body radiating into the air. Beside him, Wilbur stirred a little, looking up from his clasped hands slowly.

“Tommy,” he rasped, before clearing his throat. “We’re not going out like this.”

Those words were like a beacon of hope for the boy. “Of course not,” he breathed, voice barely a fraction of the volume he’d displayed earlier. “We have to save L’Manberg.”

“We’re going to form a resistance,” he declared. “Rise up against his tyranny. We can restore the peace.” He angled his head towards Tommy, a determined expression painting itself on the ex-President’s face. “I won’t let Schlatt ruin my L’Manberg.”  
The wording was a little weird – his L’Manberg? – but Tommy failed to notice, distracted by a ping from his communicator. An all-too-familiar name popped up.

[Technoblade]: heard you need some assistance over there  
[Technoblade]: want some help?

Wilbur read over his shoulder, and his gaze darkened. “No,” he said aloud. “We can’t invite another member.” He stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Why not?” Tommy asked, clutching onto his battered communicator tightly. “Techno’s really strong. He’s offering to help us. He's our friend.”

“He’s American,” Wilbur said, voice icy cold. “He’s an anarchist. We can’t trust him. He’ll help us to a point, and then he’ll get bored and stab us all. That’s just how he works.” 

“Why don’t you trust him?” Tommy pleaded, standing up in frustration. “He’s our friend. He’s basically our brother. Please, Wilbur, we can’t do this alone. We need his help.” He could feel his tears threatening to return, and Tommy wiped at them fruitlessly.

Wilbur was silent for a moment, considering his options. He looked as if he were about to say no again, but he sighed. “Okay.” he said simply, shoulders deflating. Tommy had never seen him look so tired and exhausted, not since the fluke incident on L’Manberg’s walls. “I trust your judgment then, Tommy. I’m not going to do any of the negotiating though. That’s your job.” 

Brightening up, Tommy smiled and raised the communicator to his face in order to type the message. In his rush of personal hope, he missed how Wilbur watched him with tired eyes, before sighing and blocking up the entrance with dirt. He failed to notice his leader retreat to their mock bedroom, and he failed to see how he gave into his tears, alone and in the dark. The ex-president wasn’t as okay as he seemed, not by a long shot, but he was keeping it together for Tommy’s sake.

Maybe if Tommy hadn’t failed, he would’ve been able to help him.

-

IV.

Tommy regretted travelling out to survey L’Manberg’s progress today. He and Wilbur had just wanted to survey the next sweeping decision Schlatt had reportedly made, and maybe find ways to exploit old weaknesses of the nation. Instead of something minor, though, they stumbled across the worst scenario possible.

Their walls were being torn down. Brick by brick, layer by layer. Tommy felt a rage simmer in his chest as he watched the scene, his hands balling into tight fists. He opened his mouth to say something scathing, but he found himself speechless, unable to conjure up even a single swear word. 

Beside him, Wilbur was silent again. Tommy tore his eyes away from the scene to look up at his leader, and he flinched at the raw despair displayed on his face. Tommy had only ever seen Wilbur look so horrified after L’Manburg had been blown up by Dream. His gaze seemed to be fixed on one particular part of the walls, and Tommy followed the gaze, freezing when his eyes laid upon the distinctive figure of Fundy diligently mining away at the blackstone.

“My son,” Wilbur whispered, in a barely audible tone, thick with harrowed disbelief. “I built these walls for you, Fundy.”

Tommy felt his chest tighten as his friend was silent a moment longer, before he began to sing a gentle and familiar tune. The anthem of L’Manburg sounded far more melancholy, now, and as Wilbur sang, he couldn’t stop himself from joining in on the very last line, a hand clasped loosely over his heart.

“I’m so sorry, Wilbur,” Tommy tried, turning away from the wreckage. He couldn’t face it anymore. Wilbur must’ve been the same way, because his head was dipped, eyes lowered to the ground. The ex-President did not respond, swinging his body around to face the other way. He tapped a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Wilbur said aloud as he began to leave, voice thick. “There’s no home for us here.”

Tommy sped up in order to walk in sync with the older man. “We’ll restore it when we get it back,” he said. “It’ll be our home again in no time, right?”

There were a few beats of pensive silence before Wilbur replied, his words still heavy with unshed tears. “…Of course,” he reassured. “We can’t give up hope yet. Schlatt be damned, I will get my land back.”

Shuffling beside him with determined strides, Tommy glanced up at Wilbur, concerned for how his mentor was feeling. He’d just watched his son tear down his own walls, after all. “…Are you okay?” he asked warily, blue eyes shimmering with obvious concern.

Wilbur made a soft breathy noise, sticking his hands in his trench coat’s pockets. “You know what, Tommy? I think I’m a little like a fuse. A long, slow-burning fuse.” He ran a hand through his hair as they walked, eyes firmly focused on what lay ahead. “In the next couple of weeks, I am going to be a different man than the one Schlatt crossed.” 

At the time, Tommy perceived that line as a good thing. He felt hope well in his chest – prior to their exile, Wilbur had never been the one to initiate action, really. Tommy held on to the idea that the change Wilbur foretold one was one that would spell him leading Tommy and Techno into a resoundingly successful revolt, one that would restore L’Manberg’s former glory and repair their walls. 

In reality, the words were more of a confession. Wilbur’s hands trembled as he uttered the line, the last few words barely a whisper above the howling wind. He wasn’t ready to face it yet, but he knew he wasn’t okay. The image of Fundy – his son, his reason for building L’Manburg’s glory! – so openly betraying him had scarred him. After all, if it was so easy for his own family to betray him for Schlatt… how did he know he could trust any of his other allies? An image of Technoblade flashed across his mind’s eye, and Wilbur had to bite his lip to stop himself from lingering on the increasing chances of his betrayal.

Tommy missed the way his hands shook by his side, and he didn’t identify the shadowed look in his eyes as he tried to rationalise with himself desperately. The boy simply smiled a cheery smile and hummed a positive tune, his own fire of rebellion re-lit in his chest. 

As he walked alongside his right-hand man, Wilbur just sighed, and looked back to the road ahead. If Fundy didn’t need his help, so be it. He would not risk his life for a traitor. No matter what, he would lead Tommy to victory by himself if need be. 

Of all the things Tommy missed, the most dangerous one was the suddenly fiery glint of determination that sparked in Wilbur’s eyes that day. 

-

V.

As nights and days passed by slowly, even Tommy began to notice the shift in the behaviour of his leader. As the two worked in the hallways of Pogtopia together, Wilbur’s sense of stability had noticeably slipped, the older man growing into the unsettling habit of casting wary glances over his shoulder, as if he were anticipating an attack at any moment. Not even Tommy could miss the fact that he was never seen without a weapon on his person, or the fact that his eyes only seemed to grow darker as the nights dragged on.

Honestly, though, Tommy wasn’t sure what to do about it. Hell, could he even do anything to help? His mentor only seemed to be growing more distant as their efforts to reclaim L’Manberg drew on, and on, and on, seemingly becoming fruitless as days dragged into weeks. Techno was no help regarding the situation, often too busy farming or gathering enchantments for his god armour. Every day, Wilbur would request an update on Techno’s position, and every time Tommy supplied the report, his eyes would noticeably darken with a lurking distrust.

Maybe he was just stressed, Tommy tried to reason with himself. Tommy was stressed too, so it was only understandable. As soon as they reclaimed L’Manberg, everything would go back to normal, surely. 

The night before Wilbur’s ultimate breakdown was the night that Tommy regretted the most. Not because of any arguing or fighting or whatever – the conflict over the intimidation tower was long settled by then. No – if anything, Tommy regretted being such a coward.

He didn’t often check in on his leader in the middle of the night. Usually, he tried to give him distance, assuming that the closed-in nature of Pogtopia was stressing Wilbur out. Tommy was well aware of how annoying his presence could be, and while normally he relished in teasing and irritating his brother, even he’d gotten the message that Wilbur was not in the correct mental state for that anymore.  
Tommy wasn’t sure what drove him to look into his sleeping quarters. Wilbur probably wasn’t even there – he’d been spending a lot of nights stood guard by the entrance to their base. Plus, the quarters were private spaces, and Tommy didn’t even bother personalising his own, knowing that soon enough they’d be back in L’Manberg’s territory. However, a strange sense of worry had settled in his chest that night, and so he’d gone to take a look – maybe reassure his leader, if he was even still awake.

The teen cracked the door open slightly, poking his head into the small hole in the wall. He had genuinely expected Wilbur to have basically nothing in the room – maybe a bed and an ender chest – but that most certainly was not the case. Tommy felt his mouth open in shock as he laid eyes upon the room. Documents and pictures lined the walls, connected by a variety of coloured threads. Most of them were pinned neatly to a wooden backing, but others (namely, Eret’s and Schlatt’s) had been stabbed violently into the wall with daggers. In large marker, Tommy could identify two categories that the portraits and documents had been sorted into – Trustworthy and Untrustworthy. 

He swallowed roughly when he realised that only his own portait was underneath the ‘Trustworthy’ section.

There had been visible movement of the documents. Scraps of paper under the now nearly empty Trustworthy heading indicated that once, Wilbur had trusted more than just Tommy. They had no communication with the inner resistance of Manberg, though, and as the weeks of silence drew on, the leader had evidently lost faith in their revolutionary spirit, and come to the conclusion that their loyalty must be doubted.

Some portraits had labels besides them, and Tommy read over a few with a stone sinking in his chest. Besides Fundy’s, he spotted several notes, in rushed and emotional handwriting. The words ‘betrayed’ were scrawled over and over, besides the phrase ‘dead to us’. Tubbo’s notes were similarly rough, not being very numerous. ‘Claims ally status,’ his read. ‘Too close to Schlatt to be trusted.’ Below, though, in smaller text, Tommy could identify a final addition. ‘Don’t hurt him.’  
Niki’s portrait had the most notes, clearly added to over a long, long period of time. At first, they started off neat and optimistic. Tommy felt a glimmer of hope when he spotted how they started with ‘Status: Friend. Requires rescue as soon as possible.’ The notes didn’t stay positive for long, though.

‘Status: Friend, possibly compromised.’  
‘Status: Friend, hiding from Schlatt.’  
‘Status: Unknown, communications disrupted.’  
‘Status: Unknown, revolutionary news halted.’  
‘Status: Unknown.’  
‘Unknown.’  
‘I miss her.’ 

“Why are you here?” a voice behind Tommy sounded, and the teen almost leapt out of his skin. He turned around to see a returning Wilbur, a torch in the leader’s hand. It illuminated his face in a haunting way, and Tommy noticed for the first time how tired he looked. His once friendly gaze had sharpened into a look of hollow sadness. He looked as if he felt well and truly alone in the world, and judging by the display on his room’s walls, he probably did.

Tommy suddenly felt the urge to hug his leader, to tell him everything would be okay and reassure him that the resistance was doing their best. He looked as if he had no hope yet, the once bright spark in his eyes replaced with a low, brooding despair, and Tommy couldn’t bear to see it.

He didn’t, though. Why didn’t he? Was he scared of losing his trust? Tommy wasn’t sure why he faltered. 

“Sorry,” Tommy said, ducking his head. “I was worried about you. You know, ‘cause of the stress, and shit. Wanted to make sure you’re not like, thinking weirdly.”

A faint chuckle escaped his leader. “Worried? About me? You shouldn’t be. Hell, I think I’ve been thinking clearer than ever before, lately.” Wilbur ran a gloved hand though his own hair, a smile appearing on his face. It did not reach his eyes. “I’m doing fine, thank you. I appreciate the concern, but I don’t need it. You can go back to sleep, now.”

At that, he stood aside, opening the pathway for Tommy to leave. The teen faltered before he moved, starting off in the direction of his own quarters. As he left, though, Tommy glanced back just in time to see his leader’s false stability crumple in on himself. Maybe, if he’d stuck around, he would have identified Wilbur’s issues just in time. He would’ve seen how he closed and bolted the door behind him tightly, or how he left the light on in order to keep the shadows away. He would have been there to notice how he failed to sleep that night, or how he paced and paced and paced, wracking his head for answers he knew he would not like the sound of.

But Tommy hadn’t had the nerve to stay.  
And so, his final chance to save his leader slipped away from his grasp.

**Author's Note:**

> do not blame tommy for being too scared to know what to do. he is a child, at the end of the day. fighting won't change that. these boys are both as equally as terrified as each other.
> 
> oh, and. if you see a typo. no you don't. :)


End file.
